


Fate, Family and Forgiveness

by AislingKaye



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Post Battle of Five Armies, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingKaye/pseuds/AislingKaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few are given the opportunity to return to their loved ones after death.</p><p>Thorin Oakenshield is one of the few. He only hopes his family will forgive him when he returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate, Family and Forgiveness

 

White.

Everything was white. It was not harsh or blinding, instead almost gentle. Soothing, in fact.

But he should not be seeing white. Truthfully, he should not be seeing anything. Last he recalled, he was saying his farewells and apologies to the one whom he had wronged and who meant more than anything to him.

So why was he seeing white?

“You are in the Halls of Nienna,” a soft voice stated from nearby, and he opened his eyes once more. The source of the voice was an impossibly beautiful dark-haired woman with tears rolling ceaselessly down her cheeks. “I have healed your physical wounds, King Under the Mountain, but there is naught I can do for the wounds of the heart.” She stood elegantly whilst Thorin attempted to process her words. “Your nephews have returned to Middle Earth, and you may follow when you have forgiven yourself and healed your spirit.”

Nienna, a Queen of the Valar, left the dwarf king to consider her words in peace. Perhaps he would allow himself peace, and thus be returned to those he loved.

 

It was only a short while before Nienna bid Thorin farewell from her halls, passing him into the supervision and care of Aulë. Thorin did not protest, but nor did he seem to be healing at all. Instead, he sat quietly and brooded when left to his own devices, which was often as Aulë had his own duties and other charges to worry about.

So, when Nienna asked Aulë of Thorin’s progress an indefinite time later, the smith of the Valar could honestly admit the dwarf king had not healed much, if at all. Nienna’s ageless face creased into a faint frown.

“This is worrying,” she murmured. “He must return, but until he heals it is an inadvisable course of action.”

“I know,” Aulë sighed, shaking his head. “He merely broods over his mistakes when left to his own devices.”

Unbeknownst to the two Valar, one of the Maiar was nearby whilst they discussed Thorin’s wellbeing. This Maia, a good friend of Olórin (known on Arda mainly as Gandalf), decided that enough was enough, and went to seek out the brooding dwarf king.

Something had to be done.

 

Thorin was startled from his thoughts by a hand connecting hard to the back of his head. He was thrown forwards slightly from the contact, and spun to glare at the culprit. His glare died, however, when he saw the being behind him.

A beautiful dark-haired woman was glowering at him, her slender arms folded across her torso. There was a glow about her, similar to that of the Valar, revealing that she was not simply one of the deceased like others Thorin had seen in the Gardens of Irmo.

“You are a fool, Thorin Oakenshield,” the being stated bluntly, the iciness of her tone causing Thorin to withhold a flinch. “Lady Nienna is too kind to say it, and Lord Aulë is too busy to take the time to say so, but you are being deliberately obtuse. All you must do to heal is accept that which you did in life. When you are healed, you will be returned to your sister-sons and the one you love. If you do not do so soon, it will be too late.”

Thorin was stunned. No one had spoken to him in such a manner before, and neither had anyone given him an ultimatum. The woman eyed him for a moment, then nodded to herself and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Thorin began, and the woman’s bright eyes met his. The colour was indescribable, ever-changing and seeming to blend from one colour to the next without settling for even a moment. Thorin was lost for words.

“My name is Melian, Thorin son of Thráin,” the being, Melian, informed him in a voice much gentler than the one she had reprimanded him with. “When you wish to begin healing your wounded soul, I will be here. You merely need to seek me.”

With that the legendary mother of Lúthien Tinúviel was gone, leaving Thorin to think on something much different than usual.

 

It did not take long for Thorin to give in and seek out Melian, once-queen of Doliath. The Maia greeted him without judgement or smugness, welcoming him to sit beside her and observe the gardens in which they sat.

“Do you wish to heal, O King?” Melian asked after a lengthy silence. “Will you accept my assistance?” Thorin swallowed his pride.

“Yes.”

“Then hear me, Thorin, son of Thráin.”

Melian spoke clearly and bluntly, outlining the dwarf’s failures with brutal honestly and revealing the impacts his decisions had on others. She did not restrain her words, nor did she cease to speak when Thorin began to shake and tremble.

When the tears flowed down Thorin’s cheeks and he began to sob quietly, however, Melian finally stopped. She reigned in her tirade and wrapped motherly arms about the shaken, grieving dwarf king.

Now he had released his sorrow, his healing could truly begin.

 

“Has the dwarf-king progressed any?”

“He has. Your pupil Olórin has a good friend in Melian. She has done what Olórin could not.”

“Indeed? I must tell him so when we next meet.”

“And perhaps inform Vána of her friend’s sneakiness.”

“Of course. Do you think him ready to return to Arda?”

“You are the healer, milady. However, I believe he is hale enough to return.”

“I shall see to him soon.”

 

* * *

 

Bag End looked much as it had the first time Thorin laid eyes on the bright green door. There was no rune this time, but Thorin would never forget the place he had first met Bilbo Baggins.

Would Bilbo want to see him, though? Thorin knew they hadn’t had the best of partings, and if Bilbo wasn’t aware of Fíli and Kíli being back, Thorin’s return would surely be shocking for the hobbit.

Steeling his courage, Thorin lifted one hand and knocked firmly on the round green door before him.

 

“Frodo, dear one, could you get the door?” Bilbo asked his little charge. The little hobbit nodded and slipped off his chair, padding silently into the hallway and over to the front door. He had to stretch a little to reach the round brass knob in the middle, but turned it and tugged open the door with little difficulty. Then he looked up, and up, and up, until finally his wide blue eyes settled upon an equally-blue pair set in a bearded, tanned, lined face.

“Hullo,” Frodo greeted, his voice trembling just a little. He jolted back a tad as the large bearded person in the doorway – he was a dwarf, right, just like Misters Ori and Kíli and Fíli? – knelt to be closer to Frodo’s height.

“Hello, little one.”

“Frodo? Frodo, who is it?” Bilbo called, and Frodo glanced back over his shoulder as he heard his uncle coming. As such, he saw when his uncle stopped dead still in the centre of the hall, eyes widening and tea-towel falling from his hands.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked worriedly, even as he heard the dwarf behind him stand back up.

“Thorin?” Bilbo breathed, starting to tremble. Frodo squeaked in surprise as the dwarf – Thorin – rushed past him to catch Bilbo when the older hobbit almost collapsed.

Seeing how his uncle wept and clung to the dwarf as if he would disappear, Frodo quietly shut the front door, collected the tea-towel from the floor, and went into the kitchen.

Maybe now Uncle Bilbo wouldn’t be so sad all the time.

 

Kíli was quiet. It wasn’t overly unusual nowadays, as the younger of Dís’ sons was now prone to fits of thoughtful silence, but rarely would he be this quiet whilst coming to see Bilbo and his adorable nephew Frodo.

“What troubles you, little brother?” Fíli asked as they began the trek up to Bag End from the Green Dragon.

“I miss Uncle,” Kíli admitted softly, his gaze on his feet.

Fíli stopped in the middle of the path. Kíli _never_ spoke of Thorin, always ignoring that their uncle was no longer with them.

“Kíli?” Fíli wanted – needed – to understand Kíli’s sudden statement.

“He was supposed to come back quickly, wasn’t he?” Kíli’s voice was still quiet, almost pleading with Fíli to explain. “Why hasn’t he come back yet?” Fíli’s heart just about broke at Kíli’s tone, and he wrapped his little brother up in his arms tightly.

“I don’t know,” he hated to say it, but it was the truth. “I don’t know. Come on, before Mister Baggins wonders where we got to.” Kíli nodded, sniffed a little, and the brothers separated to continue their trek to Bag End.

 

Bilbo hadn’t moved since Thorin guided him to the sitting room and sat him in his armchair. Thorin was reluctant to release the hobbit, and indeed Bilbo was refused to release his grip on Thorin’s heavy tunic. Frodo peeked into the room on occasion, tottering in with a tray of tea and pastries before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“You were dead,” Bilbo whispered finally, his hold loosening on Thorin’s tunic. The dwarf king grasped Bilbo’s small hands in his. “You and Fíli and Kíli were dead and they came back and you didn’t and _why weren’t you here_?” Bilbo babbled, voice growing louder before he cut himself off.

“I offer no excuses, only apologies,” Thorin murmured, squeezing the hobbit’s hands gently between his own massive ones. “I beg of you, Bilbo Baggins, do not hold my absence against me.” Bilbo made a sound that seemed a mix of a snort, sob and hysterical laugh.

“Your _absence_? An absence, Thorin, is a few days. You’ve been gone three _years_!”

Bilbo looked as if he would continue, but there came a familiar double-knock at the door and he tugged his hands from Thorin’s grasp, hurrying to the door even as Frodo slipped out of the kitchen and approached the stunned dwarf.

“You're Mister Fíli and Mister Kíli’s uncle, aren’t you?” the little hobbit asked quietly, and Thorin nodded, still shocked. Frodo nodded to, more to himself than anything. “Don’t leave again. They’ve been sad like Uncle, but they hide it better.”

The brave little child then held his arms up to the dwarf with a command of ‘up’, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile as he did as the hobbitling ordered him.

Perhaps everything would be alright, eventually.

 

Fíli wasn’t expecting Bilbo to open the door with tearstained cheeks and rumpled clothing. As such, he was instantly concerned. If the distressed noise Kíli made was any indication, so was the younger son of Dís.

“Bilbo! What is wrong?” Kíli asked worriedly.

“Boys, there is someone here you need to see,” Bilbo managed to croak out, his voice a little hoarse. He must have been crying only recently. “Just… never mind. Come along.”

Kíli and Fíli exchanged concerned glances and followed Bilbo immediately as the hobbit turned and led the way to his sitting room. When they reached the room in question, they stopped dead still at the sight that met them.

There, seated in an armchair with little Frodo sitting on his lap, was someone they had not seen for years. He looked much the same as he had last time they had all been in this cosy hobbit-hole, just with added lines and scars on his features and visible skin.

“…Uncle Thorin?” Fíli breathed incredulously, Kíli trembling by his side.

“Fíli, Kíli,” the elder dwarf greeted in his unmistakeable, deep, rich voice. “I have missed you.”

Kíli turned and fled, Fíli sinking slowly into an armchair with disbelief etched on his face.

“Kíli!” Bilbo called after the youngest dwarf worriedly, flinching as his front door slammed in Kíli’s wake. He hesitated, glancing between the dwarves and faunt in his sitting room and the direction of the front door, but then made up his mind and gave himself a firm shake. “Thorin, you have much explaining to do,” he suggested flatly, and then took off after Kíli. “KÍLI! Kíli, wait!”

The three remaining sat in silence for a long time – Thorin had never been good with words, and he wasn’t sure how Fíli would take it if he embraced him.

Luckily for Thorin, Frodo was a very wise little hobbit. He slid off Thorin’s lap, crossed the room to grab Fíli by the hand, and then determinedly towed the blonde dwarf across the room to the now-standing figure of Thorin Oakenshield.

“Hug,” Frodo ordered imperiously. “You missed each other. Hug and make up, then come help find Mister Kíli.”

With that, the headstrong child marched out of Bag End after his uncle.

Fíli stared after Frodo only briefly, but then his eyes shot to his uncle once more. Thorin held out his arms hopefully, and then grasped Fíli tightly when the blonde dwarf all but fell into his embrace. Fíli clung like a child to his uncle’s front, burying his face in the taller dwarf’s shoulder and shuddering with suppressed sobs.

“We missed you so much,” Fíli confessed, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

“I was still healing,” Thorin admitted quietly, still holding his nephew tightly. “I did not know how much time passed for you all until Bilbo told me mere minutes ago. I am sorry I did not return sooner.” Fíli managed a shaky little laugh, pulling back to wipe roughly at his eyes and give a small but genuine grin.

“Don’t do it again, you hear? Mother will kill you again if you do.” Thorin winced a little at the thought – yes, that sounded just like Dís. Fíli hugged Thorin again quickly and then took a full step back. “Kíli’s been getting quiet, like he did after Father’s accident.”

“Then we should find him quickly,” Thorin replied grimly.

 

Frodo was the one to find the missing dwarf. Kíli was sitting behind the Party Tree, hidden by the large roots and the shadows of the growing evening. Frodo had hidden there before when he wanted to be alone but still where he could be found if need be, and so when he joined the search he went straight to the Party Tree.

Kíli was startled when a hobbit faunt crawled into his lap, but just wrapped his arms around Frodo anyway and hid his face in the child’s dark curls. Frodo didn’t speak, just letting the young dwarf hug him and waiting for Kíli to say something.

“Is he really there?” Kíli asked in a whisper.

“Yes. Uncle Bilbo cried for hours when he showed up. Mister Thorin looked like he was going to cry too.” Kíli gave a choked little laugh.

“Uncle never cries,” he denied.

“He nearly did when you ran out,” Frodo objected. Kíli pulled away from the hobbitling enough to look down at the serious little face.

“Truly?” he asked softly.

“Truly,” Frodo nodded determinedly. “Come back to Bag End. Uncle Bilbo is worried and so are Mister Fíli and Mister Thorin.” Kíli hesitated.

“Not just yet,” he murmured, settling back against the trunk of the Party Tree and shifting his hold on Frodo just a little. “I don’t think I can go back yet.”

“Then I’ll wait with you,” Frodo decided, and the two of them ignored the calls of Kíli’s name as the sky steadily darkened.

 

Bilbo was worried. He'd searched most of the Shire, with Fíli and Thorin’s help, and there was still no sign of Kíli. Frodo had also disappeared, and Bilbo could only hope that the little hobbit was with Kíli. If neither returned within the next quarter-hour Bilbo would be back outside searching until he found them and dragged them back by their ears.

The sound of the front door opening had Bilbo rushing from his kitchen to the hallway, where he sagged against the wall in relief when he saw his nephew leading Kíli inside.

“Sorry if I worried you,” Kíli offered sheepishly when he saw the relief on Bilbo’s face. The hobbit stood straight and smiled at the young dwarf.

“As long as you are safe. Come, I have supper on the table.”

Frodo and Kíli followed Bilbo, the little hobbitling refusing to leave Kíli’s side, and both of them saw Fíli and Thorin’s tenseness dissipate when they entered the room. Frodo watched as Kíli hesitantly approached his uncle, ready to jump in like he had with Fíli and Thorin if need be. Bilbo also watched on, a hint of pride growing at his little nephew’s wisdom and kindness. Frodo was a very special child, Bilbo knew.

“Don’t leave us again,” Kíli whispered when he paused a mere foot from his uncle. Thorin placed his hands on his younger nephew’s shoulders.

“I will never leave by choice,” he vowed. “I am truly sorry I have been gone so long.” Kíli shook just a little, and then grabbed tight to Thorin’s tunic when he was pulled into his uncle’s tight embrace.

They weren’t ‘all right’ just yet, but they would get there eventually.

 

* * *

 

_Bilbo Baggins became the talk of the Shire yet again when he left Bag End in the company of a trio of dwarves, his young ward by his side. Little over a year later, the Tooks, Baggins, Brandybucks and Gamgees received an invitation to visit the dwarven kingdom of Erebor, where ‘Mad Bilbo Baggins’ was to be wed to the dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield._

_The Gamgees, some of the Tooks and only a few of the Brandybucks accepted the invitation, and later returned with tales of grand halls and sturdy dwarves, and whispers that the King’s Consort looked happier in the halls of Erebor than he ever had in the Shire._

_The rest, they say, is history._


End file.
